Today I beat the hell out of myself in regards to the writing. I’ve been a little rusty, what with my mom coming up to visit for a few days. Instead of working on the book, I succumbed to the temptation of hanging out with my mom and my son. We explored Ikea, went on a few walks, and made the most of our time visiting. I didn’t do as much writing as I had hoped.
The week began with me taking Monday to do a 18.5 mile bike hike around Lake Dillon. Tuesday was spent being sore and sleeping. Today, I slept a lot too, but mostly from depression. Isolation crept in and maybe I was feeling a little hungover from having company all week.
Tonight though, I rallied and excluding this blog post, I wrote 4,000 words on the novel. Tonight’s chapter was very personal and I was glad I dug deep and got the words down. That story will fade eventually, and even though the scene I wrote is based on one dear to my heart, in time, it will be gone. It was such a wonderful memory that I couldn’t help but put it to the page.
It was about a night in June that could never be repeated. A night that taught me that there was still such a thing as magic and my romatic side throws it in my face all the time and says “See!”
It felt good to write, however sad it turned out. But the words are down and I can share that moment with anyone who cares to join me in my wanderings through memory. At least I have that. I can still hear the music. I can still hear the voices. The chill of the air. The magic of new beginnings. I get to keep it.
And I will.